


pang

by polytropos



Category: Little Women (2019), Little Women Series - Louisa May Alcott
Genre: Lesbian Jo March, Other, Queer Jo March
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:42:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23670997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polytropos/pseuds/polytropos
Summary: What's going through Jo's mind as Laurie asks her to marry him
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	pang

**Author's Note:**

> So this is pretty much the result of me embracing the fact that Jo March is pretty clearly queer (if not in the original book, then definitely coded to be so in Greta Gerwig's adaptation) while trying to balance this with a more realistic approach that between her lack of other female figures in her life that aren't related to her and lack of societal acceptance/visibility, she probably wouldn't have a clear grasp on the exact nature of her sexuality at this point in her life but would know enough to know it wouldn't be fair to Laurie to accept his proposal. Yes, I realize this is just melodramatic queer angst. But sometimes you are queer and quarantine hits you hard and you need to be melodramatic and angst and watch Little Women at least once a day for the last 3 weeks. (And pretty much embody this vibe: https://66.media.tumblr.com/64f088c6d9f2ed607713b7486f2bd608/5cf07b4b03b76b43-88/s500x750/d4c5bfd56c1a5b61d711601db23560c0e2b70199.jpg )

For the longest time, Jo never could put her finger on just what about the Laurence boy prevented her from returning his affection. When they’d first met all those years ago in a secluded spare room at the Gardiners’ party, the idea of romance between the pair of them had crossed her mind, but more out of a curious, detached sense of obligation than any real interest in the subject. Their relationship had all the makings of a fairy tale romance like the ones she’d read about and even incorporated into her own writing, but even as they spent both of their childhoods inseparable she’d never grown into the expectation like she’d thought she would. Now however, with him knelt before her on one knee and the pleading tone in his proposal there was no denying that he clearly had no issue with the prospective future that was expected of them, and in fact hoped desperately to embrace it and bring it to fruition.

She’d had a dreadful feeling this was coming, certainly within the past year. Realistically, all the signs had made themselves undeniably apparent in the last three, though a careful reading of their entire friendship since their initial meeting would easily yield evidence that they’d been there — on his end at least — since the beginning. Jo had always been stubborn though, and had spent their time together determined not to see what what Laurie all but outright begged of her to acknowledge and return. But he was begging now, and she could no longer ignore the uneven foundation on which they’d built their friendship which now threatened to bring the whole thing toppling down. He’s loved her ever since he’d met her, he says. He says that he can’t help it, but neither can she.

At first all she can do is shake her head in protest, unable to express exactly why she can’t say the most simple words he’s asking of her now, or ever. How could she when she doesn’t even know herself? Even now, a lifetime of writing and good Christian education have failed to provide her with the means to articulate the nuance of her feelings, so rather than explain, she seeks to find a proper excuse — “Teddy, we’d be miserable! One day you’ll find some lovely, accomplished girl who will love you more than I ever could. I’ve tried, I really have tried but I can’t.” He opens his mouth to protest but she cuts him off, afraid that if she gives him pause he’ll ask for a proper explanation of her refusal which she can’t honestly provide. Instead, she focuses on what she knows for certain, namely — “We would quarrel! We can’t help it even now. I’d hate elegant society, you’d hate my scribbling, and we would be unhappy,” _I would be unhappy_ , “and we’d wish we hadn’t done it and everything would be horrid.”

The defeated look in his eyes as he turns away tells her that her words accomplished all she had hoped they would, and a part of her regrets their effectiveness. She doesn’t want to hurt him, but while she may not know just why a life spent as his wife would leave her unsatisfied and restless, she does know that pretending otherwise would only hurt him more in the long run. He’s about to storm off, but she can’t in good conscious let him leave without first trying to assuage her rejection, terrified of losing the closest friend she’s ever known. “Teddy, I don’t believe I will ever marry.” This much is true. While Jo herself may not be entirely certain of the depth or nature of her desire, she is sure that if it were somehow fulfilled it would not look like Meg’s straightforward marriage to John Brooke, or even the familiar union shared between her father and Marmee.

“I think you’re wrong about that, Jo.” Laurie’s eyes are filled with tears that he is making a concerted effort to contain, and his jawline quivers as he tortures the both of them with a hypothetical which he is as sure will come to pass as Jo is convinced of its impossibility: “I think you will marry, Jo. I think you’ll find someone and love them and live and die for them because that’s your way. You will.” She hates how desperately she wants to believe in this possibility, even as she sees how much it hurts her friend. “And I’ll watch.”

He’s gone before she can say anything in return, not that there’s anything else that can be said. She wishes she could tell him exactly why he’s wrong just as much as she wishes he were right. She wishes she could ever adequately explain that despite the fact that she has never been in love with anyone, she is steadfast in her knowledge of the kind of person she could never come to love, and that it’s no fault of his own he’s one of them. She wishes that she could tell him how she longs to grow old with him without it being selfish, because the future she wants with him is but an extension of their childhood — platonic and eternal. She wishes once more to have been born a boy, because then the tangled mess of unrequited love, restricted roles, and unholy urges could perhaps have been entirely avoided. As she collapses on the ground and puts her head between her knees, the white church on the distant hill looks on, and now more than ever she truly feels how crushing its gaze can be.


End file.
